There was a time when I used to travel a lot – I mean snails do a lot of travelling. Most people don’t know that. But, we have houses and very little luggage and food can always be gathered, and eaten on the way. It’s a lovely lifestyle. I remember once after I slithered inside a wooden crate full of yummy lettuce. I munched and munched until I fell asleep, all cosy and warm. It was a long time in that crate, but with food and dark warmth, it was lovely. I just ate and sle

Octopus’s Garden is a very shady grotto. Cedric hides in the back and nibbles on small larvae and crustaceans he has gathered this morning. He has his pipe and slippers and his favourite coral armchair, the one with the round boards so he can rock back and forth, watching the vista of the reef just outside his door/window. He has been here for many years, is well known for his poetry and short stories, and his once-a-month storytelling at all the swimmy kiddies in the area.

Always wanted to be called “Bradley.” Don’t know why but “Bradley Bandicoot” always ‘flows’ for me. My parents’ birth-named me “Marmaduke”. Having that yelled out as a cooee allowed all the other bush creatures to titter and giggle. When you have a long snout and often get mistaken for a water rat, having a silly long name sets you up for ‘their’ jibes and guffaws. So, I have settled on “Bradley”! The alliteration of BB has a certain ring to it, in my ears. I remember,

“Singlas, I want Singlas.” He squirmed in his seat on the back of the shopping trolley, reaching out for the single bananas. He knew he could have those now and not wait for his mum to feed him at home. “Yellow, I want a yellow.” His mum grabbed a big one, knowing it would keep him quiet for a little while. She peeled it and shoved it into his dark pink sticky hands. He almost choked jamming it down his own throat, making ‘num num num’ noises as he chewed it and made chub

Rustle, bustle, muscle. “Got to push through all this undergrowth.” Bartholomew winces over the sharp rocks, as prickles and thorns hit him in the legs. “Got to find more smelly things.” Getting hungry now, he bustles and scuffles his way through the long-grassed paddock. Another prick on his legs makes him yelp and dance just as he picks up the scent of something moving up ahead, someone to eat. “Yep, that smells great!” A caterpillar, maybe a mantis, anything, as he yelps

“Woger Woger. Or is it Weganold? – We had got to stop meeting like this.” “Well, maybe you can lend me your ears.” “Ears, I’ve got a whole bag full of ears.” “How about a Bwyan, do we have a Bwyan?” “Nope only Casscisuses, Juliuses and July’s a few Maximuses, a small Minus, and a Biggest Dickess.” “That’ll never do – we need a Woger.” “How about an Over n’Out, he’s a foreigner, but surely he’ll do?” “Nope we can’t have agreement to the Senate if we don’t have a Roger. All in

The view moves and sways. Trying to capture a feel, a view, a mood. Nothing coming, just staring. Staring at his fingers. The gnarled scars of decades. Cuts, scrapes, scares; all time imprints. That blade cut just above the thumb, leaving a white scar, a semicircle in the demi-layer. The rain and wind beat at his face, darkness all around. Torch under the chin trying to see the broken wire. Production was down. $1000s per minute, slipping away. Every minute co

CRASH – shattering glass. “Yahooooo” with gleeful laughter – from the street. Is this a dream? Rushing to the bedroom door, smelling smoke. I open and stumble into the hallway of smoke billowing up the high ceiling, the walls are a low orange glow. To my left, there is fire under the back door. It licks at the floor gap, five fingers of flame trying to grab a hold. “Water – Fuck – Water”. I rush to the bathroom, upend the bin and jam it under the bath taps. Half full, I